Humpty Dumpty
by Sparkiebunny
Summary: All of Sam's consciousness is sitting on this wall...All that Sam was, is, and could ever hope to be is resting on this weakening fixture. No wall can stand forever. Post 6x11, "Appointment in Samarra".


**AN: So who else is super-pumped for the rest of the season? I couldn't resist writing something to go along with the mid-season finale. It wrestled with me a bit, but I gave it an honest effort. Please let me know how I did (Constructive criticism equally appreciated). Hope you enjoy!**

**This One Shot takes place at an undetermined point in the future, post episode 6x11, "Appointment in Samarra".**

* * *

**Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,****  
****Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.****  
****All the King's horses, And all the King's men****  
****Couldn't put Humpty together**** again**

All of Sam's consciousness is sitting on this wall; this constructed barrier in Sam's mind, teetering dangerously against the pressure. All that Sam was, is, and could ever hope to be is resting on this weakening fixture.

No wall can stand forever.

**. . .**

"Dean," Sam said, his voice hoarse.

In the darkness of the late night, Dean sat upright, heavy lids flying open. He turned to the bed next to him and flicked on the light. His body stiffened at the vulnerable tone of his brother's voice. Sam sounded lost. He sounded broken. It was the voice Dean had been fearing for months. He'd had nightmares about this moment, when the wall would crumble, when the front would collapse.

When Sam would remember.

Examining his brother through apprehensive eyes, Dean noted the position of the body before him. Sam's back was hunched, arms curled around his knees, leaning against the headrest of the bed. His eyes stared ahead vacantly.

"Dean," the voice repeated. It was that weak voice again. The broken one. "Something bad happened."

It was not a question.

Rallying any conviction he could muster, Dean shot his brother a carefree grin. "Probably just a bad dream, Sam."

But still the eyes stared blankly ahead, and Sam shook his head slowly. "No. I don't think so."

Dean made his way cautiously to the bed, sitting down gently beside his brother. His eyes searched Sam's face with trepidation, seeing the unshed moisture in his eyes.

"Sam? You ok, little bro?" He knew the answer to the question, and in truth, the inquiry was pointless in itself. Even if he _thought_ he was ok, Sam was _not_. Not even close. But Dean had been content to live in the lie, to savor the ignorance. But ignorance was bliss, and bliss never lasted…especially for the Winchesters.

Nothing lasts forever.

Sam shook his head softly in response. The movement sent unbidden tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

Wordlessly, Dean put his arms around his brother, gentle but firm in his embrace. Sam gave no resistance to the touch and the elder brother didn't mention the wet tears staining his shirt.

Dean was shocked at how the vulnerable position took him back to years ago, back when Sam was always Sammy; when his unruly mop of hair hung almost into his eyes; back when it was Sam and Dean, no matter what, till the end of time.

Dean was sure he missed those days. But he'd forgotten the agony of watching a brother in pain.

A muffled voice sounded from Dean's chest. "I remember, Dean." Sam sounded helpless, defeated. "God, I remember _everything_."

Dean sighed inwardly, blinking back the moisture in his eyes. He had to be there for Sammy, and he'd be damned (again) if he let anything get in the way of that.

"I'm here, Sammy. You don't have to fly solo for this. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." Dean felt the fine tremors running through Sam's body, and with heartbreaking clarity, he realized Sam was shaking with silent sobs. Not a sound, not even a breath escaped from Sam's frame, but Dean could feel the man shaking against him.

Dean pulled his brother up to eye level, hands planted on the shuddering shoulders. Intense hazel eyes caught the younger man's gaze. "Hey," he said. "You're not alone. We're gonna put things right, I swear. You'll be fine. We _will_ make this right."

The mossy eyes shifted, overcome with a distance only conceivable for Sam himself. Pale lips switched into a shadow of a smile, a bizarre contradiction to the tear tracks on Sam's cheeks. Dean looked at his brother questioningly and ghosted trembling fingers through the dark hair.

"Sam?" he said quietly.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…" Sam began, voice far away. The tone was sardonic, dark. It was as if his words weren't even intended for Dean. Perhaps they weren't meant for anyone. Dean's heart clenched as he recognized the rhyme, and heard his brother reciting it so emotionlessly.

"Sammy…" he pleaded, unsure of what he was pleading _for_. But the small, impassive voice continued.

"Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…"

"Sammy, please, stop." Dean put his hand lightly on Sam's face. The touch was hesitant, gentle, as if he feared Sam would shatter at any moment. Maybe he would.

"All the King's horses…and all the King's men…" Sam said, drawing out each 'all' with hopeless resignation.

Dean's pleading died on his lips and he pulled his brother close. A tear slid down his cheek as he felt the tremors wracking his brother's frame.

After a short moment, the trembling ceased and Dean felt the silent flow of tears ebb. He closed his eyes, willing the silence to last, willing Sam to fall asleep, and maybe wake up in the morning thinking it was all a dream. A fantasy. A delusion. A vision of some sort. Anything. Anything but the reality this was.

But Dean knew better. Fantasies, delusions, visions…they never last. And dreams—they're hardly ever that simple anyway.

But Dean also knew that it wasn't about creating the fantasy. It wasn't about crafting the delusions or fabricating the visions. It was not about dreaming. It was about addressing the reality—together—and finding a way to cope.

Together.

So Dean held his brother firmly and rocked their bodies back and forth with gentle ease. He said nothing, because there was nothing to be said.

And he stayed silent as Sam finished, squeezing him even tighter as the younger voice cracked painfully on the last line.

"…Couldn't put Humpty together again."

Though hearing his brother's words, Dean refused to relate them to Sam. Sam was not some freaking fairy tale. Sam was his_ brother_. He would be there for Sam, and everything would be ok. It might take a while, but it would be ok.

It had to be.

Dean couldn't afford to believe anything different.


End file.
